Brett wore a dark skirt with a pale, pleated blouse, wooden bracelets and strings of gold chains. Worse perhaps, to judge from the glances Selby noticed from a large woman in the jury box, Dorcas’s body was trim, her legs shapely and she had what Tishie always referred to with resignation as “Gentile bones,” by which the old lady meant narrow hips and slim wrists and ankles.
The courtroom was crowded, with marshals posted at the exists. Near the witness stand was a roped-off section for the press and TV cameras. A spray of ferns, a crystal carafe and drinking glass stood on Judge Flood’s high bench. His bailiff, a thin black man in uniform, shared a desk below with the court stenographer, a middle-aged woman who wore a green eye-shade.
Shana sat alone at the People’s table, facing the jurors and Judge Flood. At the Defense table were Earl Thomson, Allan Davic and two of his associate attorneys. Behind them in the spectators’ gallery were George Thomson and Dom Lorso.
Earl Thomson leaned comfortably back in his chair, tilting the front legs an inch or so from the floor. His clothes were conservatively informal, a dark sports jacket and a white shirt with a maroon tie. He seemed gravely interested, observing the jurors with courteous attention.
Selby glanced once at Earl Thomson’s hands, but decided it would be easier to concentrate on the proceedings if he ignored those powerful wrists and fingers and the burning images he associated with them.
Allan Davic listened to Dorcas Brett with an intensity that Selby recognized and understood — a player studying an opponent for evidence of tension or nerves.
But there was no uncertainty in Brett’s attitude, which was Selby thought; her manner was perhaps too confident to gain sympathy from the jurors. Who knew?
She spoke rapidly, and at least used no speaker’s tricks, no “charming” mannerisms, framing well-crafted sentences, which were seldom relieved by the simple errors of common speech, broken rhythms, fumblings for words, or any other folksy lapses.
After listening a while, Selby began to see that her formality and crispness came not from overconfidence but from something just the opposite. She was simply nervous.
Brett drew a precise outline of the Commonwealth’s case against Earl Thomson, which included his fingerprints in the garage at Vinegar Hill, and the presence of his car in the driveway there. These facts, together with the defendant’s “as we will show, outright lies to Detective Captain Walter Slocum,” formed the circumstantial basis of the People’s case.
“But this is only the physical evidence,” Brett added. “This evidence is weighable, measurable, but there is still a more conclusive kind of evidence, that of an eyewitness. The plaintiff is that witness. Shana Selby has identified Earl Thomson — without reservation or qualification — as the man who assaulted her, held her against her will and raped her. That young girl had five agonizing hours to memorize every feature of his face, his coloring, his physique.”
In a low voice which carried with arresting clarity throughout the silent courtroom, Dorcas Brett then asked the jurors to return a verdict of guilty as charged on all counts of the indictment against the defendant.
Shana attempted to ignore Earl Thomson, who was staring at her with a seemingly puzzled smile. But a rise of color in her face seemed to betray her awareness of him. Thomson nodded slightly and looked again at the jurors, his manner once more respectful, attentive.
Davic stood up and said, “Your Honor, with the court’s permission, I would like to preface my opening statement to the jury with a general comment.” Without waiting for approval or even an acknowledgment from the bench, Davic went on, “As the court is aware, I haven’t moved that these hearings be closed to the media and public. I’m not presuming Your Honor would have ruled in favor of such a motion, but I want to explain why I didn’t file that motion. While it might have been to my client’s advantage to be spared the inevitable notoriety that accompanies such a public trial, I believe in this instance his interests and the interests of justice will be best served by giving the widest possible publicity to every facet of this case, by turning the most searching spotlight I can on what the prosecution chooses to call evidence. But I would also like to make it clear that I am opposed in principle to invoking those precedents which encourage the exclusion of the public and press from criminal trials. Such precedents take us in a perilous direction — the issue is the asserted conflict between two constitutional rights: the First Amendment’s guarantee of press freedom and the Sixth Amendment’s guarantee of a fair trial, although, as the court is aware, the Constitution nowhere mentions any public right of access to a criminal trial. That notwithstanding, it remains my deepest conviction that the rights of all the people are best served by open hearings and trials.”
During this stretch of self-serving dicta, Davic fixed each individual juror in turn with his eyes, trying to establish his authority over them, each practiced gesture and intonation asserting his claim to their attention and respect.
Davic then walked to the jurors’ box and said in a conversational tone, “We’ve met before, of course, during the selection process. You were good enough to answer our questions and tell us something about yourselves and something about your personal experiences with rapes and assaults, and whether such violations had ever touched anyone in your immediate family or anyone close to you. I want to thank you again for your help in these areas and for contributing your valuable time to serve on this jury.
“I’m not sure I mentioned that I’m a New York lawyer. I am indeed, but I’m also privileged by license to practice here in Pennsylvania. My associates, Mr. Royce and Mr. Kilroy, are members of my firm.
“Let me point out now, as we begin the trial, the People’s attorney has not as yet presented you with any evidence. Her opening statements were only what she hopes to prove. Her charges do not constitute evidence of any kind whatsoever, although she tried to make them sound as if they did. I will refute those charges in due course. But first I want to tell you openly and candidly what I need from you as a jury, and, indeed, what I expect. I need, ladies and gentlemen, a complete and unqualified exoneration and vindication of Earl Thomson. I will not call him the defendant. I’ll dispense with that legalism. My client’s name is Earl Thomson. He is twenty-seven, he has been employed by the Harlequin Chemical Company in a responsible position for more than three years. He graduated with top honors from Rockland Military College in Jefferson, New Jersey. Earl Thomson has, of course, no prior criminal record.” Davic shrugged. “But since his hobby is high-powered cars, I suppose there might be a traffic violation or two that I am not aware of. But that’s it.”
Davic moved closer to the jury box and placed his hands on its burnished wooden ledge. For a moment he silently studied the jurors. “Let me explain,” he said then, “why in this particular case Earl Thomson so desperately needs your unqualified exoneration. In other cases, both civil and criminal, a unanimous and unequivocal verdict isn’t always essential. A hung jury, for instance, is often as good as a not guilty verdict. Because a hung jury simply means that men and women of good character and intelligence couldn’t reach an agreement on the facts. A mistrial may serve the defendant in the same manner, whether it results from a technical error on the part of the prosecutor, or some other irregularity. A reversal of a guilty verdict on appeal — for whatever reason, trifling or significant — also represents a victory for the defense. These inconclusive results tell a person who reads about them in the newspaper or hears about them on television that the issues were so confused and complicated, the so-called facts so contradictory that jurors, with the best will in the world, still found it impossible to say who was right and who was wrong.